The Road Goes on Forever
by Doreen Tracy
Summary: Written by Sue Walker - Sam returns home and is brutally attacked.


_Author's Note: Or in this case, the poster's note. I am not the author of this wonderful story. I've been trying for a long time now to find her because I wrote a follow up story to this story and I wanted to post it to the net. Since my story would make absolutely no sense unless you have read this, so I'm posting it. Sue - if you are out there, please contact me. You deserve all the credit for this story._

The Road Goes on Forever

**Sue Walker**

I think you could say Jack Kerouac's been a big influence on my life. On the Road came out in '57, which coincidentally was the same year Sam leaped into me as a kid - big year, '57. I don't remember anything about being leaped-into, but the book changed my life. It was the first time I ever felt like it was okay to be me. I was hungry, angry, halfway crazy . The holy nuns said I had the Devil in me - they tried hard enough to beat it out of me, I know that. But Kerouac celebrated that, he really _celebrated _it. Crazy was blessed, the way he looked at it; crazy for life. I met him; I sure as hell never thought I'd meet another like him.

Now last week I read Kerouac was bisexual. Ain't that a kick? He was in love with Neal Cassady, who's the guy he based Dean Moriarty in _On __the Road _on. First I was shocked, then it seemed so clear, so obvious. It's in the book. Sal has women, Dean has women - they're just episodes, adventures along the way. What matters to those two guys is each other. That's where their souls are, with each other. The whole world could go away and leave those two together, they'd be just the same.

Now, Cassady was kinda wild and bad, like me; and Kerouac's the great soul, like Sam. My mind started thinking along these lines.

I've had a lot of episodes and adventures along my road - you could say that! And that's what they were. Some of 'em very sweet, don't get me wrong - some are a permanent part of my heart. But, the advantage of getting old is there comes a day when you've proved all you had to prove, been where you were going, and you can clean house and get to what's essential. And what's essential to me is Sam. Sam is where my soul is. It's weird, but realising that fact didn't shock me. And what's even weirder, it didn't shock Dr Beeks either.

"What are you going to do about it?" was all she said.

Do? I just spent the last six years devoting my every waking thought to the guy. It comes naturally. What else is there to 'do'?

"Something else that comes naturally,'' she said. Waiting to see if I was gonna balk at the word 'natural'.

I didn't. I remembered Sam telling that kid, Kevin, about sex being right when you love someone so much that making love with them seems the most natural way to express it. There was a lot of truth in what he said, and in the way he said it too. He taught two people a lesson that day : Kevin and me. And I didn't think there was any thing _anyone _could teach me about sex, but I was wrong. There's one kind of sex I've never had. Sex that is just a natural expression of love; nothing more, and nothing less. And for me, that would be sex with Sam.

So then I'm thinking about making love with Sam. Thinking about it all day, thinking about it all night. First Jack Kerouac, now me. Even just a couple years back, I wouldn't've even wanted to think about it. I mighta wanted to _do _it, but I wouldn't let myself _think _about it. I can't explain to Beeks, or even to Sam, all the stuff and baggage that went with being a man, for someone my age, coming from where I came from. And I've been through times when knowing I was a man was _all _I had. But I've been in combat, survived the jungle, conquered outer space, had women fallin' at my feet, drunk Papa Hemingway under the table - all the things you do to be a man, I've done 'em. And the old line is right: it don't mean nothing. Being a man is down to the fire inside you, nothing else. I guess Jack Kerouac coulda told me that.

But look at me, sixty-four years old and nothing to lose. And then look at Sam, with the best years of his life right ahead of him. How can I turn around and ask him to-

"Just try it," Beeks is telling me, with one of those smug smiles of hers. "I think you'll be surprised. Don't worry - if it isn't what Sam wants, he _will _tell you, you know."

He would. I know that. Since he spent those six years leaping around from life to life, Sam has a phobia about lying, in word deed or omission. He's finally learned how to say 'I don't wanna do that', and not give in just because someone else needs him to. So she's right, I got nothin' to lose by asking him .

I had to go to Washington for a week, so I took that time to think it through , to be sure. And by the end of that week, I was _damn _sure.

So Monday morning I drove straight from the airstrip to the Project with a song in my heart, feet tapping on the pedals, practically dancing in the car seat. My head full of plans of how to broach the subject with him, how to make the first move without laughing or dying of embarrassment , what would come next... Happy daydreams.

That early in the morning driving through New Mexico is like skimming the surface of a new-born planet. Y'know some artist said something pretty astute about this state: he said it's not a country of light on things, it's a country of things in light. It makes a hell of a change from Caesar's Palace and the Sahara, but I think I could settle down here. If Sam'll go for it, maybe we could even build a house. It'd be the first actual _home _I've had since I was a little kid.

I noticed - barely noticed - that the Marine on the Project checkpoint wasn't a Marine. In fact, there wasn't a jar-head in sight - just my people looking like they'd been dragged out of bed for a surprise drill.

I leaned out of the car, ready to ask what the hell was up, and then I saw Beeks walking towards me across the parking-lot. She got into the passenger seat. At least she looked like Beeks, but she wasn't the smartass shrink I talked to last week. Something was very wrong here .

I parked, fast. She stared straight ahead through the windshield.

"Sam was attacked last night," she said.

I went to autopilot. "Is he dead?"

"No."

"How bad is he?"

"It's..not life-threatening."

"Where is he?"

"He's at the University Medical Centre, in Albuquerque."

I started the engine. Everything else could wait.

But she had her hand on the parking brake. "Wait, Al. It's vital I talk to you before you see him''

"Why?" I looked at her in panic. "What is it? Is he cut-up, brain -damaged, what?"

"He was raped."

I cut the engine. Or it died. Everything seemed to stop. That couldn't happen to Sam. Goddamit, not to Sam. "_No."_

"Yes." She reached out and covered my hand where it was clenched around the wheel, and her fingers were cold like ice. Like she was holding me steady while she stuck the knife in . "It happened here, last night about three. a.m. He was working in his lab. The man came up behind him and got a garrotte around his throat, then pushed him down on the lab bench and raped him. It was one of the Marine guards, it wasn't somebody under your command, or anyone you vetted. He's dead now."

I closed my eyes, dizzy as hell. "Did Sam kill him?"

"No. Colonel Logan shot him trying to run the checkpoint.

I couldn't think. What I was feeling took me back thirty years. "They shoulda brought him in and let Sam kill him."

She didn't comment about that. She opened the car door and got out. "Come up to my office when you're ready, and we'll talk."

I sat there listening to her footsteps walk away. My mind refused to accept this. I wanted to get out of the car, go on up to his lab and have coffee with him, talk and laugh with him like we did every morning. It was impossible that he wasn't there, that he was lying in a hospital, alone and- I had to go to him.

I started the engine, but somehow I never pulled out. Beeks was right. I've trusted Sam's life to her a number of times during leaps - and that's a lot of trust.

Beeks had hot coffee waiting when I got to her office, and she was standing with her back to me, studying a photo on her wall. There was anger in every inch of her.

"You can smoke if you want," she said as she turned around. She had a cigarette in her own hand, and she was wearing big tinted spectacles instead of her contacts. From the way she was dressed, she'd been here all n i ght.

I didn't realise my hands were shaking till I went to light up. I didn't want to smoke, I wanted to kill. "Why wasn't I called? I shoulda been here-"

"You were in the air. I left a message on your machine."

"I never went home." I remembered why I'd been so eager to get here . While I had been daydreaming about making love to Sam, some bastard had been _raping _him . It made me feel .. I dunno, like I was responsible .

"I know you're angry," she said. "And guilty, and confused . But you have to keep your own feelings under control, and focus on Sam. He needs you to be practical and steady."

She didn't look all that 'practical' or 'steady' herself. But I heard what she was saying. It was the same drill as when he was leaping. I fought to keep my mind on track . "How was he doing, when you saw him?"

"The paramedics had him intubated because of the tracheal trauma, he couldn't speak much. There's a lot of soft tissue damage, but they didn't find any serious internal injury. I think he had a broken arm ."

This was harder on me than I'd thought . I had to get up and walk around to listen to this. "What about.. AIDS?"

"The rapist tested clean . There's an outside chance, if he had just gotten infected recently - Sam will need to be tested in three months. But I don't think it's going to be that"

_So he's __not __gonna die. _I held onto to that. That's step one.

"I had them take him into town," she said. "I wanted him away from here. Dr. Carlsson went over there with them in the ambulance."

"She gonna stay with him?"

"Yeah. I talked to her an hour ago. He's sedated, he's sleeping."

"I wannabe there when he wakes up . _Before _he wakes up." I pointed the cigar at her, to be sure I was making my point. I remember when we had that poor kid, Katie, here - Beeks wouldn't even let me in the same room with her until she had no other choice. I was scared now she was gonna take the same approach with Sam.

"It's okay, Al. Sam's trust of you goes very deep. If anyone can help him, it's you."

Bless her for that. I stopped pacing around and sat down.

"But.." she went on, warning now, "You mustn't pressure him in any way, or crowd him, or try to touch him. If he wants you to stay at the other side of the room, stay there. And if he says get out, get _out__.__"_

"You think he will?" I felt clueless and helpless.

"I can't guess, Al." She sighed, sitting down at last. "This was a savage attack. He had no chance to fight, and he never even saw his attacker's face. There's a part of his brain that's going to identify all males - maybe all _humans _- as predators."

Predators. Jesus! Sam was the one who believed everyone had some good in them. "How could anyone do this to him?" I exploded. "After all he's done, all the good he did? Six _years, _risking his life for strangers - for Christ's sake how can this _happen _to _him?__?__" _I guess I was really asking how God could let it happen. Her answer surprised even me.

"It makes perfect sense," she said, in a voice like flint. "Violating what's good or innocent is part of the pathology of rape. Not always, but often. Frail old people, pretty women, little children .."

"The pure in heart." I could feel my self-control going. It was all I could manage to stop myself bursting into tears. "I wish the bastard got me instead of Sam."

"I'm ashamed, Al, but so do I." She sighed, then made herself go on. "I have to ask this - I don't have access to your Navy records. Were you raped, as a prisoner of war?"

I coulda laughed. There's things happened to me over there I can't bear to think about. But not rape. The locals wanted to touch us sometimes, out of curiosity - they were real impressed with the size of the American dick. But rape wasn't on their menu. Ain't that ironic? Out of all the crap I've been through - not just in Nam, but in all the stinking bars and backalleys and cathouses I've spent half my life in - the one thing that _never _happened to me, is the one thing I need to know about if I'm gonna help him .

How come a deadbeat like me gets away unscathed, and Sam doesn't? I just shook my head . "No."

"Okay," she said, lacing her fingers together tightly on the desk. "Think back to when you were a prisoner of war anyway. You told Sam once that inside your head you were always free. Can you remember _how _you remained free?"

"Uh..I guess.'' I closed my eyes, not wanting to look at her if I had to dredge up this stuff , "I used to think about what Dr King said. If you know you're doing the right thing, then you're always free."

"Well, Sam doesn't have that anymore."

"What?" I opened my eyes in shock . "But Sam always did right. All his damn life, he never did anything _but _do right."

"He let himself be raped."

"The hell he did! The bastard came up behind him and cut off his air. Jesus!" I was furious, but her beautiful face was like stone. I took a mental step back. "What are you saying?"

"He couldn't protect himself, AI. He didn't even have a place inside himself where he could hide from what was happening . You can tell him this was an act of violence, no different from the torture you suffered in Vietnam, but it isn't true. This man had _sex _with Sam. That's intimate, and it's personal , and it reaches you right where you live. Do you understand?"

I didn't want to. Just thinking about what happened to Sam as sex was making my stomach heave . I stood up, thinking I might have to make a run for the head any minute. "Is he gonna get past it?" I muttered, "This year, next year..?"

"I don't know. Whatever happens, it's part of him for the rest of his life. Sam isn't a kid with his whole life ahead of him. He's had his sense of identity challenged these past few years, more than most people could begin to handle, but he came through it with his integrity. Sam is so proud, so moral.." She shook her head, looking on the verge of tears herself "Why did this have to happen _now__?"_

That threw me. "Now? What's the timing got to do with it?"

"I don't mean it that way . I'm thinking about what was just about to happen for the two of you . He needed what you were going to offer him, Al. That intimacy, trust, commitment.. That would've been his reward, the homecoming he always wanted."

I was embarrassed . "I don't even know yet if he.. You know, if he would've-"

Her eyes flashed. _"I _know."

"Well that's all still there for him," I said clumsily, "It's not like this changes the way I feel.."

She looked at me bitterly. "You really don't get how desperate this is, do you? What do you think, that you can put your arms around him and tell him you love him and it will be all better? Give him some good sex to take away the memory of the bad sex? Al, get this clear. Sam may never be able to even _think _about making love again. You may never be able to touch him, even."

I didn't know how to respond. I was trying to understand, trying to help . But it's true, all I wanted to do was hold him close and love the hurt away . If I thought I felt helpless while he was leaping, it had nothing on this.

"Tell me what I've gotta do to get him through today," I said . "Whatever it takes, I'll do it. I'm never gonna give up on. him, Verbena. And Sam's strong, he's _damn _strong. He's beaten everything else and he'll beat this, too."

She gave me what seemed like a pitying look. But I could see she wanted to believe it as much as me. "Just go and sit with him," she said. "Read his cues -·read his body-language, and the thing he doesn't say . Make yourself open to him. Let him set the pace"

I've had years of practice at that, anyway. "Are you gonna come see him?"

"If anything happens that you can't handle, bleep me and I'll be there in fifteen minutes." She watched me stand up to go. "AIl Sam has one big advantage in this situation - and it's the same one he's always had . He has someone who lives to love him ."

I blinked. It wasn't the compliment - that was true and we both knew it - it was the sadness in her eyes when she said it.

"But you have to remember," she went on mercilessly, "There are some things love can't heal."

It was 11.30 by the time I arrived at the Medical Centre. I stood outside the door of Sam's room and looked in through that little observation window they have. Sally Carlsson was sitting by the bed; she had all her nice red hair pulled back in a band at the back, and she was so white her freckles looked like.ink-spots. It took me a whole long minute before I could force my eyes to look at Sam.

He was lying down flat, with his arms at his sides. They'd put hospital pajamas on him, and his neck had a collar like they put on for whiplash . He had a cast on his right wrist, and an IV needle taped to the back of his left hand, but it wasn't hooked up. The bed had a soft minty-green fleece blanket covering the sheets, and I could see the shape of him underneath it. There was nothing to say how badly he was hurt; his body looked fit and strong just like always. He had his eyes closed. He had no colour in his face and his mouth was down at the corners, but other than that he just looked like he was sleeping. He didn't stir when I opened the door, but Sally looked up.

"Al!" She stood up to give me her chair by the bed.

When Sam heard her say my name, his eyes half-opened . He was pretty much drugged to the eyeballs. Maybe I was kidding myself, but I thought he seemed glad to see me. Beeks certainly hadn't been kidding about how hard it would be to not reach out and comfort him. I wanted to pick up his hand so bad I was shaking.

"Hi, Sam," I said softly, trying to put some of the comforting into my voice.

"He's very sleepy," Sally told me. "He won't really be able to talk for hours yet."

"It's okay," I said, still looking in Sam's eyes, "I'll sit with him till he wakes. You go take a break." When the door closed behind her I smiled at him. "Go back to sleep, kid. You want me to sing you a lullaby?"

His eyes narrowed a fraction, like he was horrified at the prospect. It was better than I'd hoped for. You still got your sense of humour, you're still in the fight. Maybe Beeks was being too pessimistic . She's a woman after all, and women have a different perspective about rape.

I watched him all afternoon. They sure as hell must've hit him with a horse dose of something, because he barely stirred in all that time . At least he wasn't dreaming.

It got doark outside the window. Someone brought me a tray of something like bad airline food, and hooked up Sam's IV so he could get a bit of nourishment and some more painkiller, but mostly we were left alone.

I sat there thinking about Sam. I remembered how he looked the last time I saw him, waving me off at the airstrip when I set off in the Cessna for Washington. Standing there in hi s chinos and his white shirt - it was freezmg cold too, barely dawn, and he'd run out of the house without his jacket 'cause he didn't want to miss me. He'd just shaved, his hair was still damp from the shower, the wind whipping it around his chin . God, he looked like a kid. Standing there with the early-morning sun in..his eyes, smi ling and squinting and waving at the plane. He was so beautiful.

Back when he was leaping, I always assumed that when he leaped hom his memory would be complete again. But in never really happend that way. Maybe it had something to do with the way we retrieved him, I don't know. There was a lot he didn't remember. Which was actually good, in certain ways. He never even asked why Donna wasn't there to greet him or what heppened ot his crazy attempt to get Beth back for me. It was as if those things weren't relevant anymore.

And he was right, they weren't. All either of us really thought about or cared about since he's been back was rediscovering our friendship. And we weren't only _rediscovering _it, we were starting over too. Here's something from _On the Road _that kept coming back into my head again and again these past few weeks. It's just one sentence: 'we tiptoed around each other like heartbreaking new friends'. And that's how it was: we were falling in love.

Now this. I looked at him lying there, and I wondered if I was ever gonna see him smile again. All I needed was to have him safe. Forget the rest of it; if I had to be celibate the rest of my miserable life and follow him around ten paces behind - it didn't matter a damn if I could just see him look the way he did on the airstrip a week ago, happy and young.

It was way past midnight when he started getting a little restless, and turning his head on the pillow. I wanted to wake him up out of whatever dream he was having, but I sure as hell couldn't shake him awake.

"Sam.." I raised my voice somewhat so I wouldn't have to lean over him . "Sam, it's okay. You're safe, Sam. I'm right here with you. You gonna wake up now Sam?"

His breath came heavy for a second, then he opened his eyes. He made some sounds in his throat that cut at my heart to hear them. Then he turned and saw me.

"Al.." His throat was hurting, it came out croaky, but God could I hear the fear in it. "Al!" His eyes were pleading when they met mine.

"It's over," I said, trying to reassure him with my eyes. "You're safe."

"Oh no .." He closed his eyes quickly, and his voice was like a thin moan. _"Nooo__.' __' _I guess the memory was coming back to him.

"Sam - it's over. It's _over, _Sam."

He turned his head away, clumsy in the collar. He kept muttering , just angry inarticulate stuff, some cuss-words I'd almost never heard him use before. He lifted his left hand awkwardly and started rubbing at his face.

I had to break into this somehow, so I decided to try and be practical. I got up and pressed the call-button for the nurse to come take care of the necessities.

His eyes opened, following me. "Al?"

It was that same anxious tone he'd get sometimes in a leap, when he didn't want me to go. God forgive me, I was glad to hear it. Sometimes when Sam is in bad shape he withdraws right into himself, and other times he reaches out - _I _really needed for this to be one of the times he felt like he could reach out.

"It's okay," I told him. "It's okay I'm just calling for the nurse. Get you comfortable."

I opened the door for the nurse, looking her over as I did so - from pure motives for once in a lifetime. She was a fragile Japanese girl with nice Oriental manners. I wondered if someone assigned her to this duty specially - if Sam could stand anyone around him now I'd think it'd be a sweet little butterfly like her. So I gave him an encouraging smile, and went out to take care of my own necessities while she l ooked after Sam.

I took ten in the hallway, had a cup of coffee and a smoke. When I got back , she had Sam propped up in bed and she was sponging his face. Looked like h eaven to me , but he was just barely tolerating it.

"Please..that's enough." He forced the words out, still trying to be polite, but his eyes looked like he was ready to throw her clean across the room.

She got the message , bless her . Took her cart and left. As soon as the door closed behind her Sam looked to me.

"I've gotta get out of here," he said, and I could see he was hanging onto his control by a thread. His voice was croaky and shaking. "Like tomorrow morning, or better yet tonight - _now."_

I didn't know if he could walk even, but I was ready to take him wherever he wanted to go. I struggled to stay practical. "That'd have to be up to the medics, Sam.."

"Let me see the chart." He held out his left hand .

I unhooked the chart from the footrail of the bed and passed it to him . My hand on one end of it and his hand on the other end was the closest contact I'd had with him since this nightmare began .

He read the chart with that detached doctor expression on his face, and whatever he saw seemed to convince him h e wasn't going anywhere tonight. "Okay, have them take my temperature at 7 a.m. If it's normal, I'm going home."

He didn't hand the chart back to me. Instead he put it on the bed for me to pick it up from there. So Beeks was right. He really _didn't _want me touching him . He must know I would never hurt him, but it didn't seem to make any difference.

He lay back on the pillows but he didn't relax an inch. The pretty nurse had freshened him up but he musta thrown her out before she got around to his hair. I walked around to the side of the bed and tossed my comb on the covers by his hand. "You wanna comb your hair? It's a mess."

He looked at the comb where I'd put it, taking -in th e fact that I hadn't tried to hand it to him. I wanted him to know that he'd never have to explain himself to me. Whatever space h e needed he only had to let me know, once, and I'd abide by it without questionin g him. I thought that was gonna be important, for the future.

He nodded and picked up the comb, started pulling it through his hair . But his hair was really tangled , and he had to tug it. Then he started tugging it for spite, taking some of what he was feeling out on himself Christ - as if he hadn't been hurt enough!

_"Sam," _I whispered, pleading with him to stop.

He heard me - I hope he heard the love in my voice. Anyway he threw the comb down on the bed, full of hairs he'd hauled out by the roots . I put it in my pocket without saying anything.

I sat down in the chair again , and he lay back and closed his eyes, and the sil ence stretched. He wasn't sleeping, and I didn't think it could be good for him to get sunk in his thoughts this way. Should I try to get him to tell me what happened? That's good for someone who's traumatised, but this wasn't any ordinary trauma. Or should I switch on the TV, or try to distract him , lighten his mood? I tried to remember Beeks' ground-rules. 'Read his cues,' she said. But Sam wasn't giving me any.

"What're you thinking about?" I asked him , keeping my voice soft so as not to startle him .

"I'm reviewing the Standard Model."

"Yeah? I shoulda known you wouldn't be naming baseball lineups." He knew what I meant; long ago I told him how we stayed sane - or tried to - in the cages in Vietnam .

He shifted his head suddenly and looked into my eyes, the way we sometimes used to do it while he was leaping, when eye-contact was the only way we had to communicate the things that went too deep for words. I saw, then, how bad it was. He was at breaking-point with nowhere to go.

"What'm I gonna do, AI ? I just..! don't know how to survive this.. Every time I think-" He closed his eyes tight, like he could shut out the memory that way . "Every time I think about it, I just panic, I - I wanna run ..run from it or fight or _something. _It's like it's still happening, over and over again, as soon as it's over it starts again and Ican't do a _damn _thing to stop._.__stop _it!"

"I know, Sam.."

"No you _don't _know! _I _didn't know- I could've never even imagined how it- I spent all those years leaping around into other people's lives and sharing their experiences, I thought I learned a lot. But nothing could've ever prepared me for this."

What could Itell him? I always used to have something to say to him to put him back on his feet, even if I didn't have much of a clue what I was yakking about. But now, seeing him in this much pain, paralysed me. He was right, I didn't know, and I couldn't imagine . All I wanted was to run out of here and rebuild the Accelerator and leap back so I could blow the motherfucker's brains out before he could lay one finger on Sam.

His face got more deeply-lined and his voice started to give out. "I feel like..everything is gone. I can't find anything of _me. _I can't feel..except..fear and .. " His voice dropped to a forced, savage whisper, so full of hate it scared the hell out of me. "He's _in _me, he's inside me, he-" Suddenly his left fist clenched-up and came crashing down on the bed, making me jump . _"Fuck, _why couldn't he kill me?"

"Don't talk like that, Sam. Please. Don't talk about dying-"

He looked at me, his eyes naked and desperate. "Al, if I ask you to, will you kill me? You could, you know how, you could do it _now." _It was like he was pleading for the most precious thing in the world. "Don't tell me you never killed someone who was fatally wounded, you must've done that in the war."

He was guessing, because I never told him any of that stuff, but he was right of course. The memory made this conversation way too real. "You're not fatally wounded, Sam."

"Not physically , maybe . But it's fatal just the same. I can't live with this. I don't _want _to."

"You don't wanna die, either. Not really :"

"Don't I?" The agony in his eyes was a challenge . I knew he believed he really did want to die. "You said there was nothing you wouldn't do for me, Al."

"There's some things you shouldn't ask," I told him. But even as I said it, I knew he was right. If it was what he truly wanted, and if he pleaded with me enough, I _would _kill him . But it had to be done right. Clean, with a gun, and a second bullet waiting for me, because I'm going right after him. I kept my voice as steady as I could. "Okay, say you do want to die. If you want to enough, you can wait awhile. Give it a couple months."

"I _can't _give it a couple months, AI! That's what I'm trying to tell you. I don't know how to live through _tonight, _through the next _hour__. _I just..." his eyes closed and he fell back on the pillows in despair. "Oh, God. I just want _out."_

"So.." I said, "How far d'you get with the Standard Mode! I'll bet, even with that microchip memory of yours, you can't list all the semi-stable particles _with _their properties. "

He was staring at the ceiling with his lips pressed together so tight they turned white, and tears in his eyes.

I had tears in mine, too. "Go on, what's the tau particle?"

He didn't look like he was gonna rise to it Kept on staring at the ceiling .

"Come on, Sam.." I begged him, "What's a tau particle? You know this."

"It's a.." he took a shaking breath and the tears slipped out of his eyes, down the side of his face onto the pillow, "..a lepton. It's a lepton. Mass equals 1784, charge is uh ..m-minus one, spin.." His voice broke and faded to nothing .

I had a fight to get the words out, and there was no way in hell I could keep my voice steady either. "The spin is one over two. Tell me its lifetime; how long is that little sucker stable for, huh ?"

"It's..in seconds it's.. three point one times.." he had to think for a moment, "Is it ten to the minus thirteen or ten to the minus twelve?"

I hadn't a clue. "Thirteen," I guessed .

He nodded, his eyes narrowing as he thought it through . "Yeah , it's obvious."

"Okay, well that was an easy one. Try an omega-minus."

"It's a baryon with strangeness minus three.."

And so it went on. For four straight hours we kept this up. When we ran out of particles Sam started hypothesising new ones. I could see some of the Sam Beckett I'd always known coming back into him as he lay there mod elling superspace in his head - some of his impatience, and his stubbornness, and his clean strength. He still had his physics; it had been his best friend since he was a lonely little kid, and it was still there for him.

He stopped crying, he even drank a little of the glucose water stuff they left on his nightstand, and finally his eyes started drooping with tiredness.

It was getting light outside the window. I looked at the pure early blue, and Sam's eyes followed mine. He had made it through the first night

I watched his breathing get deep and slow, and waited until I was sure h e was out for the full ten before I got up and lowered the bed so he'd be lying flat

After that I just stood and looked at him. He looked like Sam asleep. God knows I spent enough hours while he was leaping, just standing in the imaging-chamber watching him sleep. I know every snuffle and grunt and frown so well. He looks the same as ever. I remember how I used to wish I could lean over him, and shake him awake and tell him he just had a nightmare about being lost in time, and then hug him close. I wish I could do that now, but it's as impossible now as it was when he was leaping.

It's gonna be just like the leaping all over again. Watching him trying, and hurting, and gettin' angry and beating up on himself. And I'll stand by, giving him whatever I can and it'll never be enough, not even close.

I thought about this morning - yesterday mornin g now, I guess. When I drove toward the Project with all those dreams about livin' out th e rest of my days in this beautiful country with Sam. Thinking that after this long, long road that's been my life, I migh t have a homecoming too, after all.

Imagining how this even ing would go - hoping we were gonna finish up the night in bed together.. I can't even think about that now without wanting to puke; it's all tangled up in my mind with what happened to him. And yet I still want him, so much. I want to love him innocently, the way we woulda done it if this hadn't happened, I want to hear him laugh out of pure happiness. But there's no way that's ever gonna happen now. This is with us for keeps. I keep remembering how he'd rasped out; 'he's _in _me' - ·and God, isn't that just what I wanted, to be in him, and to come in him, and to make him mine? What the hell does that make me?

Don't ever let them tell you violence can't destroy love. It can destroy anything.

All I can do now is pray. But I'm not gonna pray tonight, I haven't got the heart for it. Nobody ever deserved to be in credit with God .more than Sam does. And then some piece of meaningless shit like this happens, and everything we coulda had is gone. I couldn't protect him, I can't help him , I don't know if he'll even be able to let me be there for him. Don't tell me God's running this show, because I don't believe it.

**THE END**


End file.
